


Discordant

by sciencefictioness



Series: Legacy [15]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M, Mild Angst, Zenyatta Catching Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Genji vanished into the dark like a ghost, scaling the temple walls and disappearing into the night.  It wasn’t the first time Genji had run; Genji was always running. From the temple, from Zenyatta.From himself.It wasn’t the first time he’d run, but it was the first time Zenyatta had thought about chasing him.





	Discordant

**Author's Note:**

> This piece does not stand on its own, and is best read after the first chapter of Fray. If it's been a while since you read it, I'd suggest giving it a quick reread.

Genji vanished into the dark like a ghost, scaling the temple walls and disappearing into the night.  It wasn’t the first time Genji had run; Genji was always running. From the temple, from Zenyatta.

 

From himself.

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d run, but it was the first time Zenyatta had thought about chasing him.

 

Except Zenyatta didn’t know who he’d be doing it for; himself, or Genji, and so he stayed where he was, hovering in the gardens with his orbs circling uneasily around him.

 

The night Zenyatta had met Genji he’d felt him long before he saw him— a tangle of hostility and self loathing that Zenyatta could sense, a tangible, physical thing.  Guilt cluing to Genji like a shroud, buried so deeply it made Zenyatta wince in sympathy. Genji was in mourning over something, over someone, dark emotions swallowing him up until it was all Zenyatta could feel.

 

Darkness, and something both ancient and ageless living within him.  Genji but not Genji, and Zenyatta didn’t bring it up, how it was wasting away in his skin.

 

The way it thirsted, and hungered, and ached.  The way it felt alone, missing some essential part of itself, existing in pieces in Genji’s blood and flesh and bones.

 

He’d come and gone that first night, fleeing the comfort Zenyatta had sought to provide— the Iris had a way of laying everything bare as it mended, and Genji hadn’t been ready to allow it.  He’d run, and Zenyatta hadn’t expected to see him again, but Genji had surprised him.

 

Now Genji always came back.  Often covered in bruises, liquor on his breath, eyes dilated and faraway. Busted lips and bloody knuckles, drugged and hazy, and it hurt Zenyatta more every time to see him that way.

 

Genji, breaking himself.

 

Letting others break him.  People who didn’t appreciate what they had beneath their hands, in their mouths, between their teeth.  Under their heels. 

 

Genji was beautiful— intricate.  Delicate in ways no one else could see, scars over softness.  Zenyatta was self-aware enough to recognize the discord that swirled through him when Genji came to the temple with the fingers of strangers etched into his throat for what it was.  

 

They didn’t deserve to touch Genji, not if they were going to leave him so empty afterwards, more damaged than when they’d found him.  It was anger more than jealousy. He’d never sought to do anyone harm before, but then he’d met Genji, and Zenyatta…

 

Zenyatta would do almost anything for Genji.

 

He’d never wanted for anything.  The embrace of the Iris was more than enough, and Zenyatta found peace in its light, and balance in its darkness.  

 

It was unsettling, to want something now, to want someone.

 

To want Genji.

 

Finding him by the well that night was the same double edged sword as always— the joy of seeing Genji clouded by the sadness of what he put himself through.  Genji sat in slanting rays of moonlight with a bloody cigarette and half the buttons on his shirt missing, punishing himself for things that weren’t his fault.  Zenyatta wished he could pick Genji up, tuck him away in a corner of the temple and keep him there, keep him safe. 

 

He couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

 

Genji wouldn’t heal in a cage, no matter how badly Zenyatta wanted to protect him.  Both from the world, and from himself. 

 

_ Where else is there to go,  _ he’d asked, and Zenyatta couldn’t help but touch him.  

 

_ There is always forward, if only you stop falling backwards. _

 

Zenyatta reached out to lift Genji’s chin, and Genji dropped his cigarette to close his fingers around Zenyatta’s wrist, and held him there.  If only it were always so simple for Genji to let everything go.

 

Drop all his vices, and hold Zenyatta instead.

 

He pressed into the metal of Zenyatta’s palm, eyelashes wet where he looked up from beneath them, and asked Zenyatta for things he couldn’t give him.  For pain, and punishment, but Zenyatta didn’t know where to start. More than one of the Shambali’s students were patrons of Overwatch, or places like it, and though Zenyatta knew the principles behind domination and submission he’d never considered taking part.  There was no reason for him to do anything more than give someone a nudge in the right direction, to try and help them find a safer way to get the things they needed.

 

_ You could do it for me.  Please, Zenyatta. _

 

And oh,  _ Iris. _

 

He hadn’t know his name could sound that way, like he was everything Genji needed.  Zenyatta wanted to say yes so badly that it was terrifying, because it would be so easy to err.

 

To truly hurt Genji, instead of help him, and Zenyatta couldn’t risk it.

 

He’d never given out a prayer bracelet before, the metal of it taken from his very orbs, the stones bathed in their light.  A part of Zenyatta that Genji could keep with him, and he ran from the temple, but he didn’t leave it behind.

 

It still felt wrong, Genji slipping away, but at least he wasn’t entirely alone.  Zenyatta was there, in a way.

 

And Genji always came back, now.

 

Zenyatta stared at the place where Genji had been, at his spot next to the well, orbs falling back into their natural rhythm when movement drew his gaze.  Idhatta floated further into the garden, pausing next to Zenyatta with an apologetic tilt to his head.

 

“I did not mean to eavesdrop,” Idhatta said, and Zenyatta waved his hand dismissively.

 

“Your presence is not unwelcome,” he replied, and Idhatta hovered closer, and let out a thoughtful noise.

 

“I saw you giving him a bracelet.  The first you’ve ever given, is it not?  You do not take students.”

 

“I have taken him,” Zenyatta said, and Idhatta let out a soft, mechanical laugh.

 

“You are taken  _ with  _ him,” Idhatta said, and Zenyatta hummed.

 

“He is easy to be taken with.”

 

Idhatta let out a huff, orbs whirring in lazy circles as he looked up at the moon above them.

 

“For you, perhaps.  He seems… messy.”

 

Idhatta wasn’t wrong, Genji  _ was  _ messy.

 

He was also vividly, vibrantly alive in ways Zenyatta had never seen in another person.  Zenyatta could still feel the warmth of Genji’s on his palm, the weight of Genji’s head on his knee, the soft green of Genji’s hair on his fingers.  Could still hear the aching lilt of Genji’s voice, how it dragged adoringly over his name.

 

The gardens were beautiful, but not quite as beautiful without Genji there.  Zenyatta lingered next to the well, and looked at the stars. All he had to do was wait.

 

Genji always came back.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing myself further and further into a niche here, tell me nice things <3


End file.
